


Ghosts and Dragons: Abdication

by B_Radley



Series: Rise and Fight Again [44]
Category: Star Wars: Rebellion Era - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Deception, Families of Choice, Grief/Mourning, Love, Multi, Slight Spoilers for Heroes of Mandalore, That's Not How The Force Works, yes it does
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 12:46:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12481888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/B_Radley/pseuds/B_Radley
Summary: Before she can completely assume the mantle of leadership of Mandalore, Bo-Katan Kryze must first speak with one who has held the the true title before.Takes place betweenHeroes of MandaloreandIn the Name of the Rebellion.





	Ghosts and Dragons: Abdication

**Approximately Eighteen Years after the Fall of the Republic**

Sabine Wren watches as the chaos of hyperspace gives way to the velvet curtain and pin-pricks of normal space. She turns to the woman sitting next to her in the cockpit of the _Gauntlet_ -class assault ship. The woman’s green eyes, a much sharper version of eyes from another warrior—one related to Sabine by marriage, cuts through her. The eyes soften as a smile flows to the wary, controlled face of the new _Mand’alor_. A mantle only hers for a rotation. A mantle that needed one more formality before falling completely on her shoulders.

The loyalty, or at least acquiescence of one more clan. A tiny, almost extinct clan, but one important to Bo-Katan of House and Clan Kryze. One whose surviving leader had once held her title, in trust for a pacifist leader. A pacifist who had died for Mandalore, as certain as any warrior in _beskar’gam._

Sabine nods to her and gives a careful smile of her own. She knows that Bo-Katan thinks of the past. Of past mistakes and failures. Of the death of that pacifist, her sister, the Duchess Satine Kryze. Of her death on the end of the blade that Bo-Katan now bears on her weapons belt. The Darksaber—the symbol of the ruler of all Mandalore. Sabine shakes her head as she thinks of passing the blade and the responsibility to Bo-Katan. Ensuring that her family of blood is taken care of, so that she can fight with her family of choice.

As her eyes come back to the viewport, she smiles. Several of the larger pinpricks grow, into the shapes of A-Wing fighters.

“Broadcasting recognition code,” comes a deep voice from behind them. Fenn Rau walks up behind the pilot and co-pilot seats. His eyes are fixed on the stars.

The fighters swoop in and circle, taking up station on either wingtip. Sabine looks at the lead fighter and smirks. The middle finger is raised in a distinctly Mandalorian gesture. Instead of returning the gesture, she takes her glove off and holds the  palm of her hand up to the transparisteel. She sees the helmeted figure return the gesture and then nod. Apparently, the Elector-Presumptive of Corellia has gotten in touch with her uncle’s Mando heritage, in spite of her own Corellian-Serrenoan legacy. Fenn points to the distance; the origin of the BARCAP. They stare as they close on the scene.

A scene from a horror holovid of shattered ships and pieces of ships. At least some of the ships seem to be in pieces. Especially an Imperial _Arquitens_ -class light cruiser, which seems to be missing most of its engine assembly. Two fairly intact Imperial freighters are melded together with a _Nebulon-B_ frigate. One of four of the big ships, an addition to the flotilla since Sabine had last laid eyes on it, over a year and a half ago.

Conspicuous in its absence is a battered CR-90 corvette in sable with a scarlet midships stripe and skull combination, the symbol of a once feared pirate band in the Outer Rim. The Blood Bone Order. Sabine’s heart clinches as she thinks of the possibilities for its absence. None of them positive. Her eyes lock on the shape she had been looking for.

A tiny, compared to the other ships, cruiser—a veteran of the Clone Wars—that had been centered around her uncle’s life since his early adulthood. Since he and the ship’s namesake, and a number of Republic commandos had lived, loved, and died in its confines.

Sabine turns to the _Mand’alor_. “There she is, milady,” she says. The _Jana Sloane_. Still affectionately known as the _Bucket_.”

“Stop calling me that, girl,” comes the response. “I think that you’ve earned the right to call me by my name, ‘bine,” the older woman says. She lessens the sting with a smile. “Let’s go see your uncle. Maybe we can find his uncle and get this over with.”

Sabine nods. She looks up at Rau. The Protector’s face is expressionless. She knows that this will be a hard meeting for him, as he thinks of his old comrade, commander, and later enemy. Two different men, but one named for the other by his parents.

She knows that he thinks of the last time they had spoken. When Rau had served the Empire and when Shysa—the other Fenn—had come to for aid. Aid to rescue his nephew from the clutches of his in-laws. Sabine’s late, unlamented uncle by blood, Tommis Wren.

She touches his hand. “You okay, Protector?”

He grunts in reply. After a moment, he grins. “Yes, ‘bine. Shysa and I reached our uneasy peace a good ways back. Almost two decades ago.” His grin takes on a rueful quality. “Helps that we both bear a death mark from the Imperials and Saxons, now.”

She nods. _You ain’t the only one_ , she thinks. She turns back to her work. As she prepares for docking, her mind flies to her uncle’s grief, but also to his faith and hope. Faith and hope that his hunt-sister, the powerful Fulcrum-prime, Ahsoka Tano, is still somewhere, alive, waiting to be found.

Rather than where most of the Rebellion thinks she is. Abandoned and rotting on a hellish world. Murdered by a dark figure, who would’ve killed other members of Sabine’s new family, but for Ahsoka Tano’s bravery.

She pushes her own dark thoughts away. She thinks of the connections in her life. Her uncle—an ex-Jedi whose Force powers seem to work only intermittently, was the hunt-brother of the serene, powerful warrior who had adopted Sabine and her new family, had watched over them, fought with them, and sometimes shared their table—and in Sabine’s case, something more.

She sighs. None of them being able to break through the haunted look in her eyes, or the occasional glimpses of pain whenever a certain code word or squadron title was mentioned in a communique. _No. Not quite right,_ she thinks. Occasionally, the Ghosts had been able to enjoy the occasional Smirk and eyeroll that spoke of a younger, mischievous padawan learner, as well as a member of a species known for their snark and sarcasm.

She knows that her face colors as she thinks of that brief _something more_. A seizing of the light, brief sensations of skin and whispers. All before she knew what Ahsoka meant to her uncle. Before she had known that Ahsoka had pushed her uncle and the rest of her loved ones away. Based on that unknown fear and pain.

She doesn’t see Bo-Katan watching her as she makes the docking maneuver, a troubled look in her  eyes.

+=+=+=+=+=

Sabine waits patiently as the airlock cycles. As the door opens, she steps in, expecting to see her uncle, or at the very least, Dani Faygan, the captain of the _Bucket_. She stops short at the unexpected sight. A woman of medium height, clad in a pair of cargo pants and an open dress shirt with a rank plaque over a somewhat greasy tank top, turns from an animated discussion with a droid. A pair of brown eyes, under bronze hair, tied back in a messy ponytail, gazes at the trio. A warm smile breaks over her thin features, traveling to her eyes—giving them a bit of spark that the young woman had been known for in her not-so-distant youth.

Sabine grins. “Hello, Lieutenant Florlin—,” she starts. Her eyes widen at the two blue pips on Meglann’s chest. “No, _Captain_ Florlin.”

“Hello, Sabine. It‘s been awhile,” Meglann says.

Sabine remembers her manners. She brings her fingertips to her brow, first to the Alliance insignia on the bulkhead, then to the OOD, and finally to the Captain. After the official manners, Sabine feels herself pulled into a warm embrace. She returns it. She and Meglann had met a few times; she had felt the young woman’s powerful grief for Ahsoka, as well as her respect and regard for her uncle. “Meglann, why are you here on the _Bucket_? Where is Uncle Jame? Or Dani?” Her face blanches. “Are they—?”

Megann holds her hands up. “They’re fine, babe,” she says. “The Commodore transferred his broad pendant to one of the _Nebbies_. Dani’s his flag captain.” She looks down at the deck shyly. “I’ve got the _Bucket_ ,” she says.

Sabine grins. “Congratulations, dear. Lassa always said you were her best ship driver.” She suddenly remembers what she had missed. “Where’s the _Opportunity_? We missed it on the way in.”

Meglann looks away, unable to meet Sabine’s eyes.

Sabine feels Bo-Katan take hold of her shoulder at the look.

Meglann shakes her head. “Not my story to tell. You’ll need to talk to Jame,” she finishes.

Bo-Katan gives Sabine a moment to collect herself. “Captain, I’m here to speak to Fenn Shysa. Is he around?”

Meglann’s eyes narrow at the armor, as well as Bo-Katan’s polite, but fierce expression. She looks at Rau’s equally determined expression.

Sabine smiles as she sees a matching expression flow to Meglann’s features. “This is where the Commandos are, as it was built to be. Fenn is here. But,” she says, her hand straying to the blaster at her hip, before her thumbs hitch in the gunbelt, “this is an Alliance naval vessel. I am the Captain. If you have a problem with one of my crew, then we have a problem. Understood?”

Bo-Katan looks at the younger woman for a moment. Sabine knows that she is weighing whether she should test her. The Nite Owl of many years ago would have tried. Instead, she inclines her head. After a moment Rau smiles. “Very well, Captain. I am your guest.”

“I’ll take you to him,” Meglann says with a bright smile, the tension gone as quickly as it had appeared.

Bo-Katan turns to Sabine. “Sabine, if you would like to find your uncle?” she asks.

“Okay, _alor_ ,” she says. “If you have time, Meglann, maybe we can have a drink.”

“I’ll try. I’d like that,” the Captain says. She turns to the droid. “Make sure that the first lieutenant gets those repairs completed, so we can get out of here with the rest of the squadron. I don’t want those damned frigate-jockeys complaining about us lagging behind. Especially that asshole Tage.”

Sabine smiles as the rest of the conversation fades. She turns to walk back to the _Gauntlet._ As she does, a pair of muscular orange arms encircle her middle.

She starts to struggle, but relaxes as she feels a pair of lips, followed by sharp teeth on her neck.

“Cubreem!” she shouts. She smiles as she turns and looks into a pair of violet eyes. She lifts her hand to his cheek markings.

Cubreem Maashu-Ry, son of hunters, Sergeant of Special Forces, and all around decent kisser, touches her lips with his. She is transported back months ago to the stretch of sand on Atollon before the energy barriers known as Spider Beach. To hurried breathless kisses and whispers in an unknown language. To the sense of peace of just lying there, in his arms, as they talked of his mother-of-the-Hunt. As they shared stories—his wide ranging, to her more narrow knowledge of Fulcrum.

As they both healed. She reaches over and runs her free hand over his right lek, marveling at the texture.

“So what are you doing here, little warrior?” he asks gently.

“Diplomatic stuff,” she says. “You know. Shuttling bigwigs back and forth.”

He grins. “Heard you were a bigwig. Know you Mandos. Any chance of blasterfire?”

“Don’t know,” she says. “Depends on Shysa.”

Of course,” he says with a smirk, “seeing who you brought, there might be a fight of another sort. A wrestling contest.”

“Ha!” Sabine says. “She’ll have the randy old goat begging for mercy.”

“Maybe. He is getting old. Might take him all of fifteen minutes to chat her up.”

It is to his credit that he doesn’t flinch from her blow. “About as much chance as your worn out pick-up lines and ‘oh great hunter’ stories have of getting my legs opened.”

“A boy can dream,” he says.

She grows serious. “Cubreem, how is my uncle? Your father-of-the-Hunt?”

His silence speaks volumes. He sighs, his lekku stilling. “He exists. He fights—seems like he is fighting everybody. Command, Garm, the Empire. Sometimes even us.” He looks as sad as she has ever seen anyone. “Sometimes he just spends hours looking out the port. Staring at hyperspace or the stars. Plus with Lassa gone—.” He stops at her wide-eyed expression. “Let’s just say that Dani has her own problems right now.” He pulls her against his chest. She rests her face against it. She hears his whisper. “I’m glad that you’re here, Little Wren.” She closes her eyes at the nickname.

A nickname given to her while she had sketched another huntress on a night over a year ago.

+=+=+=+=+=

Cubreem the Hunter watches Sabine’s reaction as he pilots the small maintenance pod to the flagship. Her dark eyes transition between the nonchalance of a later-years teenager, to awe, to raw anticipation of seeing her uncle after so many months. He smiles softly as he remembers their night on the beach. They had not progressed much more than kissing and holding each other as they exchanged stories. That had been fine with both of them, as they talked, laughed, and listened.

Cubreem turns his eyes back to the frigate. He manages to keep his eyes from tearing as he sees the name of the ship on his display. The other three frigates bear names from Corellia—the _Katana,_ the _Procurator_ , and the _Legate._

Blackthorn’s flagship name is an amalgamation of his heritages. One part, a certain occupation on his father’s world. The other—the name of a place on a small planet in the Expansion Regions. A place on a world where the ship’s commodore and a young huntress native to the world, proved themselves to their elders, themselves, and to each other. Where the young huntress had taken the teeth of the apex predator on the world, proving her adulthood at the unheard of age of twelve. The human hunter had stood beside her and behind her, allowing her to fight her battles, but most importantly, had stood with her.

Cubreem had heard the stories and the songs of that Hunt, even in his distant clanstead. He rotates the pod and docks with the flagship. The _Ranger of Shandai_ welcomes a hunter of that world and a warrior-artist.

+=+=+=+=+=

Sabine feels a twinge of dread as she hears raised voices beyond the hatch of the bridge. Dread mixed with anticipation. Anticipation of seeing her _ba’vodu_ , the husband of her mother’s late younger sister. Dread at seeing how much further into grief he had fallen.

The door snaps open. Dani Faygan turns towards the sound. She smiles carefully at Sabine, but turns back to the scene playing out in the command well.

“….Commodore Blackthorn, you need to come to Base One. We could use you in the larger fleet. Admiral Raddus has specifically asked for your group to join him,” says the hologram of a tall human male.

Sabine smiles as she hears the voice reply to the officer. “No, General Draven. I will not. With all due respect to the Admiral, you need me out here digging out whatever intel and blackening the eye of the Empire,” her uncle says.

She sees his back turned to her, clad in a battered nerf-leather flight jacket. Her eyes tear as she sees the tightness of the shoulders and back.

“We disagree, Commodore,” Draven says. “You’re fast approaching insubordination. We can’t afford to have cells gallivanting across the galaxy on their own.”

“Really, General? I would’ve thought I had already crossed that line.”

“With me, you have. To me you’re only a trifle better than Saw Gerrera with your stubbornness.”

Sabine can almost see the anger rising from Blackthorn. There is silence as breaths are held on the bridge. “You might want to rephrase that, General,” Jame says quietly. “I don’t have a tendency to murder and torture prisoners.”

Draven blanches at the Corellian’s apparent expression. Without a word he steps out of the pickup. He is replaced by a tall woman with sharp features. “I see that you still have the same old charm with Rebel command,” she says dryly.

“Well, No-no, I haven’t broken his jaw yet. But, the day is young,” he says, relaxing.

“Yeah, but the one whose jaw you actually broke was the one I replaced.”

“Don’t think I could take you, Nola,” he says gently.

“You know it, King,” she says, using a name from Sabine’s world. _The Storm-King._ Sabine sees her features soften even more. “You can step away, Jame,” she says. She takes a moment to wipe her eyes, looking around her to see if anyone on Yavin 4 had seen her. “No one would begrudge you that time.”

“Don’t have that time, Last Word. Gotta keep swimming.”

Nola Vorserrie fixes her gaze on him. She wipes the tears away again, shaking her head. “Okay, King. Be careful. You’re the closest thing to a flag-officer we have besides Raddus and Ackbar. Take care of yourself. Give me a call in a couple of hours, once you clear that mess.”

After a quick silence, he nods. Sabine sees the woman mouth the words ‘Love you,’ as she fades.

For a moment, Blackthorn stands, his head down, his shoulders slumped. After that moment, he straightens. She can almost feel the smile flow to his features as he becomes aware of her presence. He turns slowly. She manages to keep the shock off of her face as his face comes into view. The face remains, at least at first glance, barely changed from her memory of him from her childhood. The same warm eyes, with a hint of snark and wariness, the crooked grin.

The powerful look of hope and faith over the regular features. Emotions tempered by trial and pain. There are more lines in the face since she had last seen him, more gray in the trimmed beard—his hair had been gray since she had known him—it had supposedly turned in the fire and blood of the destruction of the Jedi. She sees the raw affection come over his face.

“Hello, ‘bine,” he says. She closes the distance to the command area. She feels his arms encircle her, much as they had when she was small; the vague memories of being rocked to sleep against his chest, her head resting on his armor. He does not wear that _beskar’gam_. A gift from his bride on their wedding. Armor that his bride and Sabine herself had marked with their handprints on both sides of his heart. She can only manage a quiet response in Mando’a. She vaguely hears a sharp voice from a very large officer behind her, turning the rest of the bridge crew back to their work. Sabine feels another pair of arms—warm, crimson arms—encircle them both. She feels moisture against her back, between the plates of armor, as they stand on the bridge.

The man known by many names—at least one he can never use again—as it would invite instant death from any Imperial, holds his niece and his sister-of-the-heart tightly.

Taliesin Croft, once a knight of a proscribed Order, stares out at the stars as he tries to touch the gift of his kind. To find one who is lost to him. One whose voice continues to infuse him with hope.

+=+=+=+=+=

Bo-Katan turns to Rau before she enters the small hangar deck. “Maybe you should wait here, Fenn,” she says. “Let me go in, first.”

Rau shakes his head. “No, _alor_ ,” he says. “We both need to face our demons.”

She is not sure who he refers to. She nods and thumbs the door open. Their eyes adjust to the low light of the small hold. In the center of the chamber, a figure stands over a worktable, wrestling with a small rifle. She and Rau look at one another, smiling, at the stream of Mando’a and Basic curses. Bo sees him stop and straighten. A deep sigh is heard. “I really need to say something about the security of this ship. They let any n’er-do-well Mandos on board.”

“They let you on, old man,” Rau says cautiously.

The figure turns. Once again, a pair of green eyes stares out at a guest on the ship. Green eyes less guarded than the other bearer, holding their gaze under a mop of mostly-still blonde hair.

“Hello, Rau,” Fenn Shysa says.

“Hello _alor,_ ” Rau says.

Shysa shakes his head. “No. Not any longer. I think that honor belongs to the lovely lady beside you.” He bows his head to Bo-Katan.

As he rises, he grins at Rau. “See you have lost your Imperial stench,” he says.

Bo-Katan sees Rau's anger rise. Shysa holds his hands up. "No, Fenn’ika,” he says. “I will fight you no longer. That’s in the past. I know that you did what you had to do, in order to keep some sort of sovereignty of Mandalore.”

Both Fenn Rau and Bo-Katan Kryze stand as if poleaxed.

Shysa grins. “What, you don’t think at age sixty-three, after a lifetime of spreading chaos and my seed around the stars, I can’t evolve?”

He grows serious. “I know what you’re here for, milady. The answer is no. I will renounce any claims I have to the war title of the True _Mand’alor_ , but I will not return to fight for her.”

Bo starts to say something, but stops when she sees his eyes. “Hear me out, before you think I am a coward and _darmanda_.” He faces her and bows to her. “I offer you my life, Bo-Katan of House and Clan Kryze. I failed your sister. I failed to protect her because of my own hubris of trying to walk the fine line of our traditions and her new way.” 

He holds the bow. After a moment, Bo-Katan walks over to him. Rau holds his breath. Bo-Katan places her hands under his chin and raises his eyes level. “You’ve nothing to offer your life for. My sister had her own flaws, not in the least her _beskar_ -level of hubris and stubbornness, thinking that she could change us in a few years.” She looks down and away. “That she could alienate those traditionalists who weren’t murderers and terrorists like Death Watch.” Her eyes rise to his again.  “You did what you could and served her well as her Protector.” She pulls him into an embrace. “If anyone failed her, it’s her own sister.”

They break apart. Bo-Katan continues to hold him by his shoulders, gazing at him. “I ask that you come to fight with us; to reconsider.”

“I don’t have much, milady. I am, for all intents and purposes, all that is left of Clan Shysa. I have children,” he says with a rueful grin. “All over the galaxy, I’m sure. But I have three with my wife now. They will be strong warriors, or farmers, or whatever the hell that they want to be. They live on my new world. A world I’m trying to build in spite of the Empire.

“I owe it to them to fight for the galaxy, not just for Mandalore.”

Bo and Fenn watch as the old man gathers himself. “But, I think that my fighting days are over. I nearly got someone killed the other day. I’m going blind.” He takes Bo’s hands in his.

“My wild _Jaig_ -hawks, what is left of them, will have the choice to follow you, or to follow my nephew. Or to make their own way.”

“I’m  only sorry that I won’t be able to take some of the burden from him, with his losses.” He turns back to the workbench. They notice the small holoprojection on the table. A holo of a young woman, her dark skin clear, a warm smile on her face gazing at them. Gazing at them with the same green eyes. “My older sister. Jame’s mother. She practically raised me, after our mother died.” He grins. “She got my father’s looks, albeit softer and more beautiful. I take after my mother, as does Jame, although he got a little darker skin that I did.” He reaches out and touches the holo.  “She died. She and her husband, a Corellian prince or whatever were murdered by some of his family, with help from Mandos. Her death turned me on the course I was on for many years. A course of violence. Of drinking and fighting—leaving children everywhere.” He turns away. “With mixed results and success.

“But I see my nephew. I watched the only life he had ever known fall with the Republic. I watched him lose his Master—one of the most impressive, powerful, and loving person I had ever had the privilege of knowing and learning from. I watched him bury his wife. The aunt of that impressive little bomb-maker you brought with you. I watched him think that another who he had grown to love was dead, only for them to re-discover themselves.

“I watched her fight for him when he was lost, risking everything for him. I watched him lose her again, when she pushed him away. I went to a hellhole of a Sith world to try and bring her body home to him. I failed to find her.” He stares at Bo-Katan. “You knew her from the Sieges.”

Her eyes close as she remembers that powerful young woman on Mandalore, and before that, on Carlacc.

“So I’m done fighting. I can’t watch him anymore. He continues to fight, but I can’t watch his grief anymore. You can call me soft, or whatever. I don’t care.” He laughs quietly. “Sorry. You both had to listen to an old man’s ramblings. Next I’ll be pissing myself and drooling.”

Bo-Katan makes a decision. She crosses over to him and kisses him. “No. I think you said what you needed to say. If I had more time, I might try out some of that vaunted Shysa charm—give you a ride you wouldn’t forget for awhile.” Behind her, Rau makes a gagging sound. Without turning, she punches him in the chest. Shysa smirks.

He sobers. He pushes her away, then kneels before her, on one knee, his head bowed. “I give you the loyalty and fealty of Clan Shysa, such as it is.”

She pulls him to his feet. “Rise, Clan Shysa.”

“I think, milady, as rightful ruler of Mandalor, you should go pay your respects to the rightful Elector-Presumptive of Corellia and her Covenant,” he says.

She nods and turns. Before she leaves the hangar, she turns and is treated to the sight of the two Fenns—two warriors who had fought together and against one another—embracing tightly. In spite of herself, her eyes tear slightly.

_Family is more than blood._

+=+=+=+=+=

Sabine watches as Blackthorn pours them both a small whisky. She mimics the raised glass and downs the whisky. When she is able to breathe again, she sets the glass down. She sees him watching her, an amused look on his face. She narrows her eyes. He shakes his head.

“What?” she asks.

“Nothing. Just got that particular look a lot from your aunt,” he says, a wistful smile on his face.

“I wish that I had known her,” she says.

He grins. “She was full of laughter—both the giving and receiving. She was an artist with _beskar_ , as you are with paints.

“My armor is a reforge of one of her pieces that she reforged. Didn’t have to do much,” she adds.

They fall silent, contemplating their dead.

“So, is Hera running the Alliance yet?” Blackthorn asks.

Sabine grins. “No, but as you said to Colonel Vorserrie, the day ain’t over.”

She sobers, reaches across the table to grasp his hand. “How are you, Uncle?” she asks quietly.

He looks at the stars through the port in his office. “I’m fine,” is all that he says.

She rolls her eyes.

He grins. “I’m making it, ‘bine,” he says. “Some days are better than others.”

Sabine gazes at him. “How is Ahsoka?” she asks.

She sees the look of almost desparate gratitude in his eyes. 

“As near as I can tell, she is fine, for someone trapped in some weird Force thing. Or in the mind of a slightly insane Corellian.” He sobers. “I’m only able to find her every couple of days or so. I’m afraid I am losing more of my Force-sense.” He grins. “The Force has a sense of humor, choosing as her beacon somebody with such spotty reception.”

“I think it chose the only one that it could, Uncle,” she says, emotion crossing her face. “So how is that twit of a niece of yours?” she asks, changing the subject.

“Which one?” he asks innocently. He dodges the pillow thrown at him.

“She’s good. She seems to be keeping us all together. She still doesn’t have a rank, but she’s my squadron commander for the A-Wings, since Talle went off to qualify in X-Wings.”

“Good,” is all she says. He catches the blush.

“So what are your intentions with my niece, young lady?” he asks with a smirk.

“Oh, just some laughs. May teach her a few things. Things that whatever stuffy pratt with a stick up his ass who gets chosen may thank me for.”

His laughter rises with hers. Sabine gets the feeling he doesn’t laugh much.

“Be careful, darlin’,” he says. “She may teach you a few things. She was, after all, raised by a Zeltron.”

Sabine looks away. “How is Dani, Uncle? Where’s Lassa? Nobody will tell me anything.”

He pours himself another whisky, passes her the bottle. “Lassa is off being a stubborn ass. She and Dani had a series of blowups. Some professional, some personal. We could tell something was bothering her. She finally up and left. Called a vote for the crew and turned in her resignation. She didn’t even say goodbye to Dani.”

Sabine’s eyes are wide. “What? What the hell?” she exclaims.

“Went off into the depths of the Outer Rim. Back to pirating.” He looks down. “Someone saw her, said she had removed her tattoos. The ones she had gotten for Dani.”

“How’s Dani?” Sabine repeats, when she has recovered.

“Outwardly as strong as ever. Inwardly she is devastated. She refuses any comfort. I’m not exactly much help.”

“I only know a little about Zeltrons, but from what Jamelyn tells me, they need contact.”

“I know, dear,” he says. “She nearly killed herself with grief and loneliness, years ago.” He looks down. “I’m working on it, Sabine,” he says. “I just hope my own selfishness doesn’t hurt her.”

He misses Sabine’s eyeroll, this time.

Her comm beeps. “Looks like Bo-Katan is trying to charm the Elector,” she says, reading the text.

“Oh good. Let’s go watch,” he says. “Money’s on Jamelyn.”

“I’ll cover that,” she says as they rise. He reaches down and kisses her on her cheek.

“Love you, ‘bine,” he says.

“Love you, too, Uncle.”

He turns away, just in time to see an A-Wing make the jump to hyperspace.

+=+=+=+=+=

Lassa Rhayme sits in the deserted lodging room of whatever backwater hole she has found herself on. Her eyes are sad as she thinks of her family. Of her betrayal. Or at least her obfuscation. She looks up as the tall human walks into the room. He is ill at ease in shabby spacer’s clothing.

Davits Draven looks down at her with ill-disguised contempt. “Were you followed?” he asks.

“What do you think, asshole?” she says quietly. She returns his look.

“Have you made contact with Saw?”

“No. Stop rushing me. These things take time. Even more on Outer Rim time,” she says sardonically.

“I don’t have to tell you the stakes in this, pirate. You don’t cooperate, you don’t get my help in getting what you want.”

She says nothing. “Make sure that you keep this our little secret, Rhayme,” he says. “There are those in our forces who are sympathetic to Saw and his little band. I’m not even sure of your boss, either Blackthorn or Bel Iblis. One word of our little surveillance initiative could result in a great deal of trouble for the Alliance.”

 _For_ _the_ _Alliance_ , _or_ _you_ , _Davy_ , _my_ _boy_? she thinks, butdoesn’t ask.

As the General leaves, a smaller door opens. An even smaller human steps in. “You heard?” she asks.

“Yeah, I heard, Lassa. I’m watching your back, as well as looking out for the other subject.”

She nods.

“You know, you could trust Tal. He is an expert at this bullshit,” Phygus Baldrick say. He knows about Drop’s little extracurricular activities trying to find Elle.”

“Yeah, I know, little man. But I want him left out of this, if it goes south. I’ve already taken enough risks, just letting who I have know.” She hears a noise at the door. She jerks her head to the other door. “Make yourself scarce. Don’t listen in, either, you little pervert.”

He smirks as he leaves.

She waits a few moments, then opens the door. A hooded figure steps in.

As the door closes behind her, Lassa waits half a second before she is in the figure’s arms. Her hands sweep the hood down from the figure’s brown-mixed-with-blue hair.

Dani Faygan makes a half-heard sound as she touches Lassa’s lips, as they meld and their tongues meet. “I miss you so much, love,” she says.

Lassa’s tears mingle with her heart-bond’s. “I know, heart of my heart,” she says.

Dani’s hands move to the top of Lassa’s shirt. Lassa steels herself and takes her hands. “Wait, love. Just a minute. We need to talk.” She tries to slow her own breathing. “Are you sure nobody suspects?”

Dani smiles. “Everybody’s pissed at you, They think I am, too.” She looks down.

Lassa raises Dani’s chin. She sees the haggard, dark circles under Dani’s eyes.Symptoms that indicate separation. A dangerous separation for an empath. She shakes her head, violently. “No, Dani. You can’t do this to yourself. I won’t let you kill yourself to make this look good.”

“I’m okay, Lassa,” Dani says. “Right now, at least. I’m mostly reflecting Jame’s emotions.”

Lassa nods. “I know. But I think that at some point you’ll both need to be there for each other. Make sure that you are. Make sure that you keep each other in the light. Him, Meglann, Nola, whoever.”

Dani changes the subject by kissing along her jawline. She sees the faint scars of the tattoos. Lassa’s tears spill freely. “I hated having them removed. It was so hard.”

Dani smiles. “I know. They’re tokens of love. But what you are doing is the highest form of love. You’re trying to bring our loved ones back to us.” At that, she reaches and yanks Lassa’s shirt over her head. In seconds, they are bare to one another, their mouths and fingers seeking each other.

Lassa hears Dani’s cry as she sees the tattoo on her right shoulder blade—one that had been an avatar of a huntress—a beloved sister. A orange and white icon on the background of her blue skin. An icon now surrounded by a crimson, upside-down triangle. The representation of the three-part Zeltron soul—the mind, the heart, and the body. All surmounted by dark purple tattoos in patterns that had once adorned another’s face. One who she had lost.

Lassa thinks no more of betrayal as Dani’s mouth tracks down her body to her core.

+=+=+=+=+=

Blackthorn gradually comes back to full consciousness. For the first time in weeks, he has had time to meditate.To attempt to fall into the Force. He is calmed, but no closer to touching his birthright.

He smiles as his mind’s eye travels back to his niece, Jamelyn, accepting the homage of Bo-Katan and the free government of Mandalore. Of her maturity. Maturity belied by the smirk she had sent Sabine Wren. His mind’s eye rolls as he thinks what that smirk might have signaled.

_So what, Bait? There’s a war on. Let them live._

The blue-orange light that has symbolized his hunt-sister flares in his Force-sense, along with the clear, familiar voice.

 _Great, Runt,_ he thinks, _corrupt both of my nieces, from both sides, why don’t you?_ He sobers, but allows the smile to remain.“Hello, my hunt-sister,” he whispers.

 _Hello, my love_ , comes the bright voice in his head. He smiles as she says the words they had said only rarely in the past.

“I‘ve  missed you, love,” he finishes.

_I think of you constantly. Not a lot else to do when trapped in some damned Force-thing._

“I‘m sorry I can’t contact you like I wish. Some beacon.”

_All that I’ve ever needed, Bait._

They both fall silent, simply basking in the energy. In the light.In the love. Only two simultaneous thoughts are heard and felt.

_Live, my love._


End file.
